


save your gold coins

by fated_addiction



Category: K-pop, Mamamoo, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/F, Romance, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fated_addiction/pseuds/fated_addiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“At least she’s not a murderer?” Hwasa supplies, amused and sympathetic. She pushes the beer closer and then checks the polish of her nails. “There’s that – and usually, Yongsunie has a better luck picking out the serial killer in movies than setting us up.”</i>
</p>
<p>Listen, there's a reason why Moonbyul doesn't date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	save your gold coins

**Author's Note:**

> This? This just happened all on its lonesome.

-

 

 

 

Moonbyul prefers simplicity. Listen, she’s pragmatic to a fault – an organized closet is an organized mind, pay your taxes on time, if you’re going to call out sick, call the night before, and, _goddamn it_ , match your socks because really, red and green isn’t even cute during Christmas.

So when Solar starts their coffee date, flushed in that weird, post-Honeymoon bliss that all her married friends seem to wear these days, she can sort of gage what’s happening.

“No,” she says calmly. Sips her coffee. Watches Solar’s eyes grow wide. “I’m not going on a date. Torture Hwasa. She’s the one that gets bored first.”

“Exactly my point,” her best friend answers. “You’re more patient.”

Moonbyul rolls her eyes. “Yongsun-ah. I don’t date. And I _definitely_ don’t do blind dates.”

“It’s a _great_ reason, I’ll have you know,” and Solar is nothing but persistent, “and I’m the oldest, so out of respect, you have to do what I say,” then as an afterthought, she crosses her arms and smirks, “ _yo_.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

Solar grins, lifts her coffee cup, and it takes another minute for Moonbyul to realize that not only has she come with a plan, this is the plan. It’s nowhere near Valentine’s Day, but the coffee shop is warm, bright, and romantic enough with the right lighting and large, open windows. It’s a favorite spot for Moonbyul and she’s trapped because she’s comfortable and way too comfortable to be awkward.

“Here she comes,” Solar says pleasantly, standing when a woman comes out of nowhere, dropping haphazardly into the seat that she previously occupied. Solar drops her hand on Moonbyul’s shoulder, the ring on her finger winking like a reminder. “I’ll be over there,” she says, pointing to the coffee bar, and Eric appears, out of nowhere, waving sheepishly at Moonbyul because _of course_.

Her brain can barely process Solar walking away, or the fact that the coffee in front of her is too lukewarm for any of this, her eyes immediately trained on the woman in front of her. She’s equally calm, smiles cheerfully when she meets her gaze, shrugging as if she just decided to just go with it.

“You’re pretty,” Moonbyul says, out loud. The woman laughs and blushes prettily. It’s abrupt. “I don’t know what else to say… I guess,” Moonbyul adds.

The woman reaches forward, offering her hand. “Wheein,” she offers. “And I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m surprised we didn’t meet at the wedding.”

“I’m not.” Moonbyul laughs. She’s dry too. “You forget how many people they know.”

“True,” Wheein nods. “I think I drank a lot. Or found the macaroon table.”

“Make sense,” she agrees, and then drags herself up to full height, dropping her elbows onto the table. She tries to be inconspicuous, but Wheein is watching with a pair of large eyes, a slight, sharp curve to her mouth, and it’s weird, but she’s pretty sure she’s walked into something and doesn’t know how.

Moonbyul forces herself to look away. Her fingers flex forward. They wrap slowly around her coffee cup. She’s not nervous; she spots Solar watching them in the window reflection, grinning and punching her husband in the arm as she points to them both. She sighs a little. Trapped, she thinks.

She evens her expression. Shifting, she looks over at Wheein again.

“So,” she says. “Tell me something interesting about yourself.” It’s awkward. She’s well-aware. But whatever, she’s going to try – or, well, at least finish her coffee.

Wheein smiles in reply. It’s sudden, pretty again, and her mouth curves lazily as she leans back in her chair. She reaches for her hair, fingering the ends, before slowly braiding her hair. Moonbyul is fascinated by the motion; it’s weirdly elegant, maybe appropriate, but it feels like an assumption and something she shouldn’t think about instead. A band around her wrist snaps the braid into place and Wheein sighs, startling Moonbyul into attention.

“I see dead people,” she says.

 

 

 

 

 

Moonbyul isn’t afraid of very many things.

There are spiders, but they’re gross and it’s, well, unnatural if you’re not afraid of them. She was six when she came face to face with a giant one in the mountains (true damn story, okay) and hasn’t forgot how hairy or disgusting it was, or how Solar, even though she loves her very much, has never asked to go camping since then.

But everything else – scary movies, heights, swimming, all the natural fears that people seem to delve into and admit when they come face to face with, are things that Moonbyul has never really subscribed to. She was a competitive swimmer in high school. Scary movies? Whatever, man. That’s why God invented baseball bats and chainsaws. Heights, of course, are no problem. Got to have a place to hide from bears.

Ghosts though? That’s a new one.

All she does is walk out.

 

 

 

 

 

“Dead people,” Moonbyul groans into her arms, just as Hwasa passes her a beer. “She sees _dead_ people.”

There are five missed calls from Solar. They all say: _HEY ASSHOLE GIVE HER A CHANCE_ , fire emoji following as a reply because dating and Yongsun is its own romantic comedy.

“At least she’s not a murderer?” Hwasa supplies, amused and sympathetic. She pushes the beer closer and then checks the polish of her nails. “There’s that – and usually, Yongsunie has a better luck picking out the serial killer in movies than setting us up.”

“You have a point.”

Moonbyul groans and kicks her legs underneath the table. They’re at a food stand between their apartments; the rest of her so-called date was a blur as it is. All Moonbyul can think anyway is how pretty Wheein was; it’s not even dulled by the fact that she basically told her that she sees ghosts. I

“Are you going to call her?”

“What?” Moonbyul blinks and Hwasa points her beer at her. “No,” she mutters. “I’m not –”

“Eonni,” Hwasa is amused, “you’re the worst liar. Like _ever_.”

“I should at least apologize,” she manages, flushing. She looks away and steals herself. You’re more rational than this, she thinks. You know how to handle yourself.

Hwasa rolls her eyes and finishes her beer. There’s nothing to say as it is.

 

 

 

 

 

The address that Solar texts her is somewhere downtown, not far from the boxing gym Moonbyul works while she finishes graduate school, and it’s a surprise because the area is nice and they’ve been closer than each other than she’s thought. It’s just weird.

She manages to find the building and the adjacent alleyway with ease, pocketing her phone and taking a deep breath when she sees the window and the neon script that reads _medium_. “I’ve seen this drama before,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes, and then steals herself again. She’s pretty, she tells herself. You should apologize.

The door opens first. Wheein steps out, carrying the trash out for pick up. Her hair is swept back, face pale and glossy as if she’s just washed her face. She’s in an old sweatshirt and shorts, a hole somewhere on the thigh. It’s not the biggest ah-ha moment, but it sort of catches her off-guard. She’s even prettier than before.

“Hi,” Moonbyul blurts. Then winces. “I –”

Wheein has a delayed reaction. She’s startled and the trash falls from her hands, scattering everywhere as she curses under her breath. Moonbyul watches as she looks up to glare, then pauses, lost somewhere between being surprised and confused as she regards her.

“Oh,” she says. “It’s you.”

Flushing, Moonbyul sighs. “Let me help you,” she manages.

They’re quiet; Wheein lets her help. The trash folds neatly into two bags again and Moonbyul tucks them against the side, brushing her hands together. She turns and watches Wheein watch her – the other woman just stands there, then sighs and leans against the wall.

“You’re not happy to see me.”

Wheein’s mouth curls. “It’s not that.”

“It’s okay,” Moonbyul shrugs. “I was kind of an ass after you told me –”

“You said a polite goodbye and walked out,” Wheein cuts her off, shoving her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. “I mean I get it… you did say goodbye though.”

She winces. “I guess.”

“You’re not the first,” she says, and motions for her to follow. 

Moonbyul doesn’t know what else to do but that. So she follows the other woman inside the small shop, ignores the fact that it’s not what a typical medium shop looks like, but doesn’t know where to look. It’s bright. There are flowers everywhere, small cactus to roses and this strange, warm perfume smell that she doesn’t quite understand. She stands awkwardly too, watching as Wheein disappears and reappears with tea and water, placing them on a table without offering them all the same.

She takes it as a quiet invitation though, looks around and studies the different photos and books that seem to make the shop even larger. There’s astrology and astronomy, a painting of stars that is set into a reading nook with an accompanying clutter of more plants and candles. It all seems honest, which is a weird thing to think, outside of pretty and it’s very _her_ when the two of them are strangers anyway.

“How long have you –”

“I was six,” Wheein replies, coming behind her with water. She starts watering the plants. “I was in a car accident and died for three minutes, came back, and then, you know, ghosts.” She shrugs. “Spooky stuff and all that.”

“Ghosts,” Moonbyul echoes.

Wheein shrugs. “It’s in my family too,” she says, and it’s sort of mysterious, how she smiles, then laughs, and relaxes all in the same motion. She doesn’t elaborate. “Want me to read your palm?”

Moonbyul retreats a little. “I like surprises,” she mutters.

“Liar,” Wheein says. She’s amused.

“Whatever,” she manages it, means it with a flush in her cheeks, and knows nothing about how she should look or stand or stay. It’s the only way she knows that she’s nervous, close to be flustered, but there’s nothing heavy about that feeling and well, okay, she thinks.

Moonbyul supposes it’s here where it starts.

 

 

 

 

 

“Throw a coin for luck and love,” her grandmother used to say, once upon a time when Moonbyul was tiny, all skinned knees, and hated the red dress her mother used to put her in during the holidays. 

“I don’t believe in luck,” she would say back. Then scowl. “Or love.”

Children are children, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

Three dates in and they decide to call it a date, an _actual_ date because Moonbyul is bad at these things and Wheein is like, thankfully, ten times worse.

They go to the mall, link arms, and buy frozen yogurt.

“This is boring,” Wheein says, delighted, and points out a stupid sweater with a ghost puppy on it. The puppy is scowling and Moonbyul cocks her head to the side, thinking about how it could be appropriate. It’s not even seasonal enough to get away with, she tries to tell herself. Wheein tugs at her hand: “It’s not a bad thing though.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

Wheein sighs. “I’m not trying to be mean.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s like,” she says, squeezing Moonbyul’s hand, “a compliment or whatever.”

“I’m trying to follow your logic,” Moonbyul remains dry. Maybe even teasing her. Wheein shrieks a little and hits her, laughing when she ducks or tries to. The smaller girl is a lot faster than she looks.

But Wheein grabs her hand again. Their fingers lace and their palms are flushed together, fused even. Moonbyul tries to swallow. She’s a little warm.

“Well,” Wheein tries again, “consider this: you’re at the mall, I’m at the mall, and our yogurt is, well, mediocre. Neither of us are foodies like Yongsun eonni…” Wheein pauses, biting her lip. “She also gets paid for that, I guess. But overall! Overall, the mall doesn’t suck that hard.”

It’s cute, really, how distracted Moonbyul gets when Wheein wrinkles her nose and tries to get all serious or whatever. She’s not really sure how she feels about the little flutter that seems to be getting bigger and bigger; she likes cute things and Wheein is turning out to be one of them. Just, you know, one she can’t really figure out.

“The mall doesn’t suck that hard,” she agrees quietly.

Wheein beams. 

The frozen yogurt is sort of forgotten as it is. 

 

 

 

 

 

Moonbyul is terrible at being romantic. She’s tried. Fails mostly. Then calls both Yongsun, who mostly yells at her, and then Hwasa, who pats her on the head, and then sort of tries to translate ‘cute girls’ or whatever.

Wheein is just different.

It’s her text that gets them to the park, a cheerful _let’s go running!!_ because Moonbyul mentioned that she does like being active and healthy, but she totally, like, forever hates spiders with a distant appreciation of nature. It’s why she lives in the city.

“It’s nighttime though,” she mutters, tugging at her sweatshirt. She eyes the playground warily. The swings are swaying; there’s no breeze. “Can’t we just, you know, eat squid and go to the movies? You did want to go see that movie about the superheroes.”

“Whatever,” Wheein breezes by, stretching her arms above her head, “I like movies at home. With blankets and –” Her gaze brightens. She smirks. “Make outs,” she finishes.

Moonbyul laughs.

They break into a light jog. It’s comfortable. Moonbyul is thinking about her exams next week. That takes a turn into ghosts though; they haven’t talked about them. Weird, right? A first meeting and all she should have taken away from it is okay, this girl is _nuts_. That would have been the sensible thing to do. It’s probably why they haven’t talked about ghosts though, or why she hasn’t been able to push herself into asking questions.

A hand startles her. She stumbles forward.

“Wait.”

Wheein’s grabbed her, half-frozen while Moonbyul steadies herself and realizes that they’ve ended up at a playground on the other side of the park, tucked into some kind of wooded area. Her fingers wrap around Moonbyul’s slowly, sliding off, and then shifting to rewrap around her wrist again. She squeezes.

It takes a second to realize what’s happening, maybe a little more, because Wheein is serious, way too serious for what she’s already come to learn. Wheein’s thumb starts to roll into small circles over her skin. It doesn’t calm Moonbyul, but it lets her check her breathing. Steady, she thinks, one, and then two.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Wheein says finally.

“Spider?” It’s a weak joke. Moonbyul’s voice cracks, just a little, but Wheein laughs and the air around the two of them starts to breathe too. “Not a spider then,” she manages.

“No,” Wheein murmurs. Her gaze is distant. She shifts, sliding in front of Moonbyul. They’re a rather odd picture: Wheein is smaller, infinitely smaller, but her shoulders are set back and she shifts Moonbyul’s hand to rest over her belly, their fingers still intertwined.

What happens next is something that Moonbyul doesn’t really understand: in front of her, the air sort of changes, goes from light to misty, chilling around the two of them. There’s a glimmer and Moonbyul stares, maybe a little wide-eyed, wonder if it’s a trick of the eye or if she can really make out a figure.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Wheein’s voice is soft. It breaks into her head and she presses back against Moonbyul. Her legs are buckling a little and Moonbyul pushes herself to hold onto her hand tightly.

“You should say your goodbyes,” Wheein remains gentle. “I can help you.”

And as quickly as the change happens, the air becomes stagnant again and it’s a summer night in the city, the air shifting into something humid, misty. She’ll read the weather and it’s going to say rain.

Moonbyul leans into Wheein, her mouth brushing into her hair. “A ghost?”

“Yeah.”

Wheein trembles a little. Moonbyul closes her eyes and hears her swallow.

“I can’t always help them,” she admits, and her hand loosens around Moonbyul’s, sort of slinking back, but Moonbyul doesn’t know how to let go of her hand. Wheein’s voice is smaller. “That part sucks. I don’t really handle that part well. I feel guilty, I guess.”

It may be the worst time to think about kissing her, but she does. She turns Wheein around, if only to tell herself _I am going to look her in the and_ because this is what she’s wanted to do, even though she hasn’t been ready to admit to anything yet. She thumbs the bottom of Wheein’s lip, drawing herself against her and smiling a little, just a little, because this is a lot and she’s not that great when it’s a lot.

So she kisses her to stop thinking about it.

Wheein’s mouth is sweeter than she’d thought it be, shy even, and it sweeps Moonbyul further into the mystery, kissing her and sliding her hand into her hair. She pulls a little. Then again. And then Wheein makes this _noise_ and it makes the bones in her body ache and sing, her arm dropping to tighten around her waist. She kisses her like breathing, like a reminder, like an assumption of reality that she has no right to give just yet. But Wheein is kissing her back: it’s hot, it’s wet, and it pulls at the knots in her belly.

It doesn’t matter who breaks away first, if that’s even a thing, but Wheein is breathing and Moonbyul keeps her eyes close, mouth puckering out with some kind of smile.

“I guess,” she says, “this is where I step in.” It’s kind of like calling her _my girlfriend_ without the laundry list of terrible dates and shared clothes. She feels a little shy. “Because who else is going to share your terrible love of mediocre frozen yogurt?”

Wheein brightens and laughs. There’s a kiss on her jaw and she breathes. “You’re right,” she says, means it, and it feels like the first time they’re walking onto the same page. “You’re right,” she says again.

“Of course, I am,” Moonbyul shrugs.

It’ll be Christmas movies in August for them, she thinks. Dates to the amusement parks. Moonbyul will even buy her a cactus; another one, but don’t tell Wheein that it’s going to get a little cheesy after all. And somewhere in between all those thoughts, the ones where Moonbyul accepts that she’s already decided that this is going to be a thing, she finds herself understanding all those stupid, childish sayings: throw a coin for love, a coin for luck. 

She gives Wheein two coins on their way out of the park, smiling.

This still remains to be true.


End file.
